


The Reckoning

by sanidine



Category: WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack, Enemies to Enemies to Enemies, Gen, Kayfabe Compliant, POV Second Person, Pure Crack, WrestleMania 33
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7765075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanidine/pseuds/sanidine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Live news reports show people sobbing, tearing their clothes, smearing ashes on their faces as they lament the arrival of Brock Lesnar.</p><p> </p><p>Wrestlemania 33 Main Event - the inaugural Title vs Tractors match (or) "With great farm equipment comes great responsibility"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RobinTrigue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinTrigue/gifts).



It all starts like this.

You are driving into town. It’s late in the summer in Saskatchewan, a cloudless day, and the sky is bright and blue above the endless fields around you. A little too hot for your liking, but it will be winter soon enough. You are trying to get to the post office before it closes because you need to mail a box to your best friend in Winnipeg, and even though you are running a little late you think you are going to make it in time.

That is, until you come up behind a combine with a header that’s wide enough to block the entire road. You hit the brakes, sending up a rooster tail of dust as you slow to a crawl. Whoever is behind the wheel of that thing doesn't need to move over much - they just need to scoot to the side a little bit so that you can squeeze by.

It’s the polite thing to do, after all.

But as your car idles, creeping closer and closer, you realize that the combine isn’t moving at all. It is just sitting there, blocking the entire road. You shift your own car into park and wait. Five, ten minutes pass by as you listen to the Northern Ag Network on the radio and try not to grind your teeth.

There’s no way you’re going to make it to the post office now, but you don’t pull a three point turn to head home. You can see the silhouette of someone sitting in the cab of the machine, not moving. Maybe the guy broke down, or - oh no - what if he had a heart attack or got hurt?

You get out of your car and walk up the length of the harvester until you are standing in line with the cab. It’s a nice machine, pretty new.

“Hello?” You yell up at the cab but there is no response. “Is everything ok?”

A second or two later the door swing open and then. Then you can see him.

Brock Lesnar is sitting in the cab of the combine. He is eating a sandwich, chewing very slowly as he looks down at you. He says nothing, but he grins his vacant terrible grin. There is a piece of spinach caught in his teeth.

\---

After that it is like Brock Lesnar is everywhere, personally tormenting you with his farm machinery.

You cannot drive anywhere without getting caught behind a crawling piece of agricultural equipment that refuses to pull over. There’s not a lot of traffic in rural Saskatchewan, but sometimes the line of cars and trucks caught behind Brock Lesnar’s combine seems to stretch for miles.

When you try to go to your little cousin’s birthday party Brock Lesnar is sitting on his tractor and blocking the entrance to the bowling alley. There are a lot of children standing around and sniffling but he refuses to relent. People trapped inside are pressing their faces to the glass, staring out at the spectacle.

You are of the opinion that all of this is starting to get a bit ridiculous. There is no reason for Brock Lesnar to be such a terrible boy. If he has a problem with you then the two of you should be able to sit down and discuss it like a rational adults. Of course that does not happen.

Then, the next time you go into town, one of Brock Lesnar’s combine harvesters is parked diagonally, blocking the main intersection so completely that it is impossible to travel past it. You watch in awe as Ronald Blumquist tries to creep his truck by on the sidewalk. Most people have left their vehicles to idle, knowing that there is nothing they can do until Brock Lesnar decides to move his combine and that he will only move it in his own good time.

You storm into the town diner. Brock Lesnar is sitting in a booth and drinking coffee, reading a newspaper. This is it. You know in a moment of startling clarity that this is what your life has been leading to, that this is your one true purpose. You can see your destiny crystallizing in front of you.

You throw down the gauntlet. Brock Lesnar takes another sip of coffee and does not even acknowledge your furious challenge.

\---

Getting a meeting with Vince McMahon is easier than you would have thought.

You fly into New York City and, as you are waiting to clear customs, you watch frantic news reports about how all traffic in the region has been brought to a standstill by Brock Lesnar and his farm machinery. You take a deep breath and try to stay calm. It is going to be a very long day.

When you make it to the WWE headquarters in Stamford you are quickly ushered past security. An escort takes you through a room of pure white light, past a vast indoor rain forest, and through a series of vault doors with spinning combination locks.

Finally you arrive in Vince McMahon’s office. He is resting on a dusty orange rock, sprawled out underneath an enormous heat lamp that is suspended from the ceiling. His desk drawers are open, overflowing with chirping crickets.

You introduce yourself and explain your situation. You ask for a match against Brock Lesnar. Vince McMahon frownd and darts his tongue out to lick his eyeballs before he tells you that you cannot be granted a visa to Suplex City since you are not a qualified sports entertainer. Then he asks you to bring him a slice of cake.

You are disappointed in the response, but since he took the time to meet with you figure that it is the least you could do.

There is a pedestal in the corner of the room, upon which rests a round, single tiered cake with brightly colored icing. As you make your way over to it Vince McMahon explains to you that it is a King Cake. He says that if you get the piece with the little plastic baby you will have luck and prosperity for the rest of your days.

When you cut the cake open a torrent of toy babies flows out to pool around your feet. You look back over your shoulder, confused, but Vince McMahon has already slithered away.

You go home to Saskatchewan.

The next week on RAW, Vince McMahon announces to a stunned audience that the main event at WrestleMania 33 will be the first ever Title vs Tractors match against Brock Lesnar. Any roster member currently holding a title is eligible to stake their claim, to put their title on the line against Brock Lears extensive fleet of farm equipment.

Vince McMahon's love of alliteration has confused everyone. The announcers have to spend at least ten minutes explaining that the match will, in fact, be for all of Brock Lesnar’s farm machinery and not just the tractors. You are watching from home with your head in your hands.

You are convinced that the menace Brock Lesnar will never be defeated. New Day rocks, of course, but Kofi Kingston has lost to Brock Lesnar before. Who else could possibly step forward?

\---

Wrestlemania 33. Orlando, Florida.

The event is delayed by hours since no spectators can reach the arena due to Brock Lesnar’s terrible and inconsiderate transportation of his farm equipment. He is literally blocking the Road to Wrestlemania. All of the parking spaces at the arena are clogged with Brock’s harvesters.

Live news reports show people sobbing, tearing their clothes, smearing ashes on their faces as they lament the arrival of Brock Lesnar

But once the even gets started it is actually very good. Vince McMahon got you ringside seats - all of your favorites go over and there are no terrible matches. This year’s theme song is not too bad, even when they play it five hundred times in a row. Everything is fine, but you cannot seem to help the gnawing feeling of anticipation on your gut.

Then Brock Lesnar’s music hits.

He comes out with Paul Heyman, bouncing around and punching the air, but once Paul starts to talk Brock Lesnar disappears back behind the Titantron. You know what is coming. Your blood runs cold.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Brock Lesnar moves his farm equipment into the arena. Piece by piece, combines and tractors that haul balers and threshers and seed drills behind them. The stench of diesel is overwhelming but everyone is glued to their seats, rapt expressions plastered on their faces. Paul Heyman is still talking but you cannot distinguish any individual words. All that you know is rage.

Two hours later and the process is finally complete.

Brock Lesnar’s intro music has been playing on loop the entire time but now it goes silent. All of the lights go out and it is as if everyone in the arena is holding their breath, waiting to see who will emerge to take on the Beast. You want to tell them all that he is not a Beast. He is nothing but a very rude man who has refused to observe common courtesy on public roadways.

Then the music starts to swell, pounding out of the speakers as tens of thousands of people start to scream. LED lights flashing pink and yellow and all of your fears and worries disappear between one heartbeat and the next as if they had never existed at all. Why had you ever doubted? You should have put your faith in her, trusted, known that she would deliver you from the menace Brock Lesnar.

  
The Boss has arrived and you know at once that your suffering is finally over.

**Author's Note:**

> I banged this out in fifteen minutes when I was half drunk and oh boy, it sure shows huh. None of this would have happened without the indomitable RobinTrigue so please direct all praises/complaints to them while I heelie tf out of here


End file.
